Pilgrimage
by Murron
Summary: Oz tames the beast inside...or at least he thinks so. Settled about a month after 'New Moon Rising'


****

Pilgrimage

I walked a lonely mile in the moonlight

And though a million stars were shining

My heart was lost on a distant planet

That whirls around the April moon

Whirling in an arc of sadness

I'm lost without you

(_Sting_)

****

The city

__

It was like heaven was crying ... _it was like everything was about to drown_ ...

The rain started early in the evening and didn't stop with the sunset. Dark clouds rolled over the sky and hid the stars. Water poured endlessly, running down the asphalt streets, filling the drains. 

Darkness settled over the countless roofs, only the occasional neon and billboards blinked through the veil of teeming rain. 

The rhythm was soporific. 

The skyscrapers' upper stories existed in a strange semi-darkness. The shimmer of the street lamps never quite reached those heights and whatever busy life there was, it all disappeared in the gloomy abyss between giant buildings. 

Across the ravine dividing block from concrete block dim lit windows swam behind the constant rush of water. 

The rain took all the color away, dipping the world into an uniform gray. It felt like it washed away human identity too. 

On the panes, raindrops beaded quietly. For a long time, he looked through the pale reflection of his face into the night. His features faded on the glass, his eyes were translucent and merged with the silently falling raindrops outside. 

Oz stood motionless in front of his window, the thin curtains dangling loosely down the frame. He'd worked all day, his body sore but his mind not the least tired. Leaning forward, Oz looked down into the pool of darkness that hid the narrow streets. The ground was invisible from his position , but he imagined numerous umbrellas hurrying over the asphalt, frantically avoiding puddles and the cars rushing by. 

Oz straightened and returned his glance to the dark sight in front of him. Down in the streets the night never really was night, but up here was isolation. 

Behind him, a small lamp lent some light to the small room and its sparse furnishing. He hadn't counted the days but he guessed he'd been here for over a month. It never occurred to him to give this flat a personal note, though. It was a place to eat and sleep and it was good enough for that. Maybe he would leave in a few weeks. Maybe he wouldn't. It didn't really matter. 

The landlord didn't ask too many questions and Oz came and went without being much noticed. It was kind of a habit, not being noticed around here. Oz had learned this lesson rather quickly. 

In time he'd grown accustomed to big cities. Out there you could be anyone you wanted to be. Or had to be. The sheer size of everything made you disappear, leaving you in grateful anonymity. 

Sometimes he wondered if people ever realized how their cities were the center of everything and yet nothing at all. There was life, all right, but it was fast, hastening by, leaving neither a chance to pause nor ponder. There was monotony and most people gave themselves into it, glad to have a stream to follow. They never really saw or heard each other. It reminded him of an old song people used to hear without listening. 

In all this continuity there seldom was a place for a soul. 

Oz turned away from the window and let his gaze wander over the room he'd rented. A pile of clothes thrown over a chair and the riffled bed were the only signs of an inhabitant. The air was filled with the smell of old carpeting and yellowed wall-paper. His fine senses rebelled against the sensation but Oz ignored their complaints. Oh, he'd learned how to control them. His super powers. His demon. He felt like smiling at this but the impulse never reached the even surface of his features. 

No, being special was nothing he wanted to connect with himself right now. He was ready to give up his identity and melt into uniformity. At least, he didn't care. As for his soul ... well, who actually had time to think about their soul? 

Only a few people did. Only a few. 

As if to defiantly bring some motion into the silent room, the little lamp chose that moment to die. With a quiet pop, the bulb snuffed its petty life out. 

Darkness covered the walls and all light was instantly swallowed. 

Oz didn't move. His lean frame was a lonely silhouette in the empty room. Only a pale blue shimmer emanated from the window and clung to his delicate cheek. 

It was true what people said: life did go on. He'd become a part of the city, sharing its multifarious ways of not caring. How different from what he'd dreamed of. 

In the special spirit of this late evening he already was on his way down memory lane, being led to a place were he'd once thought he'd found his soul ... 

****

The Himalayas, Tibet

The place itself had no name. Losing one's identity at the mountains' threshold, everyone coming to this remote spot was a nameless stranger. The feeling of reaching into a totally alien area was very strong at first sight and the sheer size of everything was overwhelming. It felt like there was no end to the glaciers, rough stone and snowy fields. 

It could make you believe what you saw filled the whole world.

The whiteness was blinding. The sky had no horizon. 

That evening the ground was only shades whiter than the sky that spread over the snowy plains and hillocks with forbidding blankness. No sound could exist in the thin air for long, where breathing was a strain and moving fast a sheer impossibility. 

This land held no invitation for man. His flurry and careless way of life was of no significance up there. Yet there were those who had made those wintry plains their home. They welcomed the land's roughness and purity. In time they found the secret of becoming part of the things that were instead of trying frantically to rule them. If for nothing else, they came to this place to leave all deception behind. 

Their monument had been built with care and stamina. In striking colors of dark brown and deep red it stood fierce amidst the whiteness, not fighting but melting into the elements. 

Hundreds of years had the Tibetan monastery rested at the foot of the mountains, offering a shelter to those who sought peace far away from modern life. 

The walls were massive and reassuring, beautiful in their simplicity. It did not necessarily call , it only waited for those whose quest would finally take them there. 

*

Inside, silence was omnipresent. It was only occasionally broken by the softly humming sound of intoned prayers drifting from the main hall. The monks sat in a loose semi circle, legs crossed and heads lowered in meditation. 

Deep voices emanated from the crouched figures like a soft stream, covering the painted floor and soaring to the wooden ceiling. From time to time, the chorus was joined by the silvery sound of little chimes underlying the rhythm. The intention was to weave a web of serenity, but the task was hard. This evening was different from everything the old building had seen before. Something dark and threatening pulsed below the monastery's usual quiet. The air was not only filled with the scent of the ceremonial herbs but also with the distinct smell of fear and pain. 

*

He was pacing behind the metal bars, darkened eyes glowering nervously. For the umpteenth time he looked up to the far end of the wall. There he could see the colorless sky, its endlessness cut to a small rectangle by a high windowframe. Pale light flowed down the sill, lending an elusive shimmer to the wall's flaking color. 

It could be any hour of the day, the sun's position was invisible behind the unified wall of clouds. Yet he knew exactly what time it was. Every fiber of his body told him that evening had come. 

Sweat broke on his brow and a covered to his exposed skin. The pain filled every bit of him. 

He kept it moving, taking turns embracing himself and running shaky hands through his tousled hair. 

It all started deep in the center of his stomach and from there extended to every region of his body, shoving its tendrils up and into his brain. Every time he tried to suppress it, it struck back at him with increased ferocity. It was so obviously a pointless battle. 

Yet he tried. He failed. 

In a sudden outburst he thrust himself against the bars, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the metal in sheer agony. His whole being demanded to howl in desperation but with the last remnant of his strength he denied the urge. Desperately, he felt all resistance drain from his tortured body. His weakness both abashed and angered him, but the truth was even those feelings would soon be drowned by the spirit of the wolf. 

Whimpering, Oz sank down to his knees and leaned limply into the bars. 

The quiet chant of the Tibetans continued unaffected. The steady sound seemed to swallow the atmosphere of surrender and failure. And with every minute the light grew dimmer and more unreal. Time had almost run out. 

A dusty shimmer flickered on the iron cage in the midst of the main hall. The metal clattered soundly as the slumped figure shifted against the bars. 

One of the monks lifted his head, his keen glance focused on the voluntary prisoner. 

"You must let go," the old man said calmly, his thick accent giving the words an almost swaying sound, "don't focus on the pain."

The figure behind the bars winced faintly, but didn't turn to look at the speaker. 

"I can't...," Oz whispered, his voice hardly audible. Blankly, he stared into the darkness that had already reached the back of the wide hall. 

He knew he was lost again, all his efforts not so much as dust on the plains. Everything was as it had been so many times before.

Tears began to fill his eyes and the wish to simply give in rose in the center of his pain like nausea. 

And why shouldn't he? 

Give into the call demanding a response so fiercely ... it would have been so easy. And he was a fool to pretend there was a chance to fight it. 

Slowly he turned. 

Across from him on the polished floor sat the old monk, the ancient eyes looking straight at him. There was a gentle mildness in his glance, a powerful warmth that Oz wished he could make his own. Where could he find the strength that seemed so invincible? How could he find the balance between yielding pliancy and stony discipline? 

"Find serenity," the monk advised him, "don't look for aggression."

Oz's hands slipped down the bars as his body wrenched under the wolf's struggle to come up. It had almost reached the surface.

"How?" Oz managed to breathe. 

The monk sat back, closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the ceiling, which was now invisible in the twilight. 

Oz watched him in paralysis. The tendrils of pain now filled his whole body, numbing his limbs and slowly sending his mind to sleep. Soon everything would be forgotten and he would run with the moon. Run like the wind. 

All the outlines before him began to disappear behind a haze. 

"The chaos and the calm you will find neither in crowded nor deserted places," the monk's voice reached his ear, "both live inside every human. The answer is in you." The monk again looked at the suffering young man, but Oz didn't notice anymore. 

Blackness fell like a heavy curtain when he finally closed his eyes. 

*

..."_The answer is in you_."...

The words followed him into the darkness of subconscious. Like a gracefully dancing snowflake the monk's advice followed him into his mind's seclusion. 

'_In me_?' Oz wondered. But what was inside him? 

Scraps of memory flashed in the darkness, ceasing embers without continuance.. Reluctantly, he went on. Something pulled him in a certain direction and he went there curious and trusting. There was a soft smell of rose petals and sweet perfume. He felt a fleeting touch and heard the echo of a merry laughter. He remembered ... how her skin felt under his fingertips. How her voice sounded in his ear. How he felt so soothed every time she was near. How he never wanted to let her go. 

He then saw her face. It was forever branded in his mind. Radiant, red hair, feeling like silk beneath the touch of his lips. A smile that belonged to an angel. And he remembered her emerald green eyes, filled with so much love every time she looked at him. 

This was peace. This was home. 

Being with her proved his life was worth something. The knowledge of her love made him perfect beyond his fears. 

Suddenly he realized this was the key he needed. This was the way he could finally overcome the obstacle. He readily gave into the feelings he treasured deep inside him. 

Oz embraced the new sensation. For once, so much was possible. 

He still hung in the balance between the beginning and the end of the transformation. In this bizarre trance somewhere in the middle of unconsciousness and meditation Oz opened his eyes. 

The limbo between human and wolf existence was a gray, formless place. Oz had been there time and time again, his spirit locked away while the wolf was on the outside. He'd always been alone there but now he saw the blurred image of an animal approaching him. As he looked closer, he recognized it to be a silver furred wolf. A few steps away from him the animal stopped. 

Eyes with the color of a summer moon looked at Oz with waiting interest. 

It left him surprised. Now, that he looked straight at the being he'd feared and hated for so long it appeared to him rather peaceful. The raw violence was gone and instead he recognized the wolf to be something wondrous and strangely beautiful. There was strength in those eyes, a distinct force rooted in nature itself. 

'_You and I_,' Oz thought, studying the wolf, '_Yes, I think I can accept this_.' And as soon as he admitted it, things became clear. Steadied, Oz turned away from the wolf and closed his eyes to the grayness surrounding him. 

In the warm, dark place of his inner self Oz felt the easing touch of serenity. He crouched into his own heart and at the same instant felt his self becoming wider and external. 

Her picture never left him, a tender symbol of his hope and faith. 

Oz let himself melt into the image, took it entirely into his soul and finally understood the true nature of love. 

Finally, he stepped over the frontier/boundary and all the pain was left behind. 

*

As he woke out of his faint he lay on the monastery's cold stone floor, his torn clothes scattered around him. His limbs felt numb with exhaustion and his throat was terribly dry.

Yet something was different from the times before. It took him a moment, then he realized it was still night. An enticing tingle of excitement ran down his spine. 

His body was too weak to straighten and he didn't want to risk another faint. But he had to see. Slowly he turned his head until he could look up to the small window at the far end of the wall.

Tears welled up in his eyes and a shudder ran through his whole body. 

He would never find the words to describe the gratefulness of that moment. All the pain, the torture and the exile – it ended right now. 

A pair of silver tears escaped his eyes as he lay there, looking up at the exposed night sky. 

The moon was beautiful. 

Oz looked at the full and white celestial lantern as if it was the first time. And indeed it felt as if he had been reborn. 

He could live again. He could _be_ again. 

In the sphere of this night he saw her face again. 

"Willow..." he whispered, his voice raw and full of emotion.

He could be whole again. 

'_Love, I'm coming home to you_ ...' 

****

The city

Oz blinked, a little confused. The memories were still vivid and yet felt like they lay eternities behind. As if all of it belonged to a different life. Ironically, time had run through his hands like dry sand and he had never noticed it. All the promises he had made himself, the visions of a future ... all gone. Maybe it was meant that way. 

He prised his glance away and turned again to the window. 

The rain had stopped at last. Fewer windows were lit. 

Oz loosened the rusty lock of the weathered frame and pushed the window wide open. A cool breeze of air flowed into the room and made the curtains flutter slightly. Oz closed his eyes and allowed the humid, fresh air to fill his nostrils and lungs. 

So many things had been revealed to him on his stay in the monastery. The Tibetans taught him how to accept the darkness and grow stronger with inner silence. He had been so eager to learn their ways, to become something better than he was at that time. And he succeeded. He adapted at least a small part of their wisdom and insight. 

As it turned out this small part wasn't enough. Only a merciful trick of fate had prevented him from destroying his love. His arrogant trust in his own ability to dominate the wolf had blinded him and endangered them all. 

He'd learned that control was something very elusive. So was safety. Eventually, the web of confidence and hope had frayed and he fell into reality. 

The truth was, he'd gotten a glimpse of purity, but in turn lost everything else. His identity was gone, his one true love was gone and all that remained was this room. A small island in the no-man's land of the big city. It seemed like the time for illusions was over. 

Oz turned back to the window, a shimmer of nightly blue catching in his eyes. 

Had he ever pretended he could live a normal life? Had there ever been a real chance? 

Maybe not. 

And what was there further on? What could he do now? He'd never had the ambition to pursue any career. He'd never had any particular aims in life. Going back to his family was not an issue. Friends were an impossibility. Probably being close to anyone wasn't such a good idea, anyway. 

Yet he missed them terribly and the sting of loneliness was cold. 

A few weeks in the snows of Tibet obviously weren't enough to make things right. He had climbed a first step on a seemingly endless stairway. He wasn't sure if he could bring up the strength to go on up alone. 

Oz lay a hand on the ledge and felt the remaining raindrops gather under his palm. Fleetingly he wondered if they tasted as salty as tears. 

Most people thought enlightening was a worthwhile thing. They didn't know how desolate it could be. 

Oz lifted his eyes to the sky, where the dark and still rain-filled clouds denied him a view of the stars. 

His journey led him away from happiness. The only love he ever wanted to call his own slowly but surely disappeared in the shadows of the past. 

All that remained was him. Just another lost child, it seemed. 

Here he was, a wolf and alone. 

****

The End


End file.
